THE GOLDEN HEART

The night lay clear upon the North Sea, but now and then a soft wind came floating by; it whistled through the rigging of a fishing smack in which a little boy lay under a tarpaulin, peeping over the side of the boat down into the water below.

His father had told him to be still and to go to sleep, so he lay looking up at the spangled sky above, and the masts rocking to and fro against the stars as the boat swayed about. Sometimes he thought the tall, dark forms looked like black arms trying to reach the bright lamps and put them out. He did not feel sleepy as he lay by himself and he began to wonder, as he gazed into the water, how deep it was down there, and whether the little fishes among the shells and seaweeds were ever told by their fish-fathers to go to sleep, and, if so, whether they found it as hard to do as he did.

Presently he saw the eyes of a great shining fish staring up at him. It opened its mouth as if it wished to be friendly, but hardly knew how to begin, so the little boy plucked up courage, though he had never met a fish before and was not quite sure how to address one.

“Is it very cold in the sea?” he inquired shyly.

“That depends on what you are accustomed to,” replied the fish. “For my part, I should say it was a particularly warm night for the time of year. What in the world do you find to do in that monstrous boat? Is there anything worth eating up there?”

“It’s very dull,” said the little boy. “My father said I was to go to sleep, but I can’t. I’m not sleepy.”